


Sing You Sinners

by Lady_Kale



Series: I Choose You Every Time (Watch Me Prove it) [2]
Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Attempted Murder, Character Death, F/F, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Major Character Injury, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt, Time Travel, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-05 05:20:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12787872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Kale/pseuds/Lady_Kale
Summary: It all started with a bad dream.AU. Time Travel. Generally Dark themes.





	1. It Started With A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings. Suicide and Panic Attacks in this Chapter

“Ronnie! _Ronnie!_ ” Heather Chandler was screaming. “Ronnie please!” She tried and tried and _tried_ to touch the smaller girl. To shake her, slap her _feel her._ But she was dead, and Ronnie was tying a noose. “Don’t do this!”

Sometimes, in the weeks that followed her death, she thought Veronica could see her.

Sometimes she thought she’d managed to reach through and _to be heard._

She’d trade all of those moments for Veronica to hear her this one time. She’d happily _die again_ to get her away from the freak outside the door, to make her feel safe.

But Heather Chandler was dead, and her almost-girlfriend, the only one that had ever _cared,_ was about to kill herself.

“Baby - please don’t do this.” She hovered so close that gooseflesh rippled across the brunettes skin. “Please, we’ll find another way.” Heather’s hand phased through the girls sleeve where she’d tried to tug her around. _Being dead sucked._ “I’m sorry. Please, I’m _so sorry_ baby girl. I shouldn’t have let it come to this.” She was crying now - ghostly tears down a ghostly face as Veronica looped the sheet up on a beam.

Outside the door, Dean was screaming too. “Veronica! Open the - Open the door please! Veronica open the door!”

Heather felt her knees give way as the noose settled around Veronica’s neck. The world faded to a splash of blue with curly brown hair. Nothing else mattered. Because if she lost her here, she’d never find her again.

“NO!” The power of her anger and fear shorted the lights, pure poltergeist magic causing a surge in the electricity. Veronica’s alarm clock blared, static ruptured from the radio set on the window ledge and Heather herself flickered in and out of existence.

Then Dean was breaking down the door, gun brandished.

And Veronica … Ronnie, _her Ronnie _… was hanging limply in the shadows. She was _gone _and so to was Heather’s reason for existing.____

* * *

Heather Chandler screamed herself awake. _“Ronnie!”_

“Woah! Woah, hey -” A hand, a solid, _warm_ hand caught her flailing arm. “Heather!” Blue eyes were regarding her softly, almost hidden behind wild brown curls. “Heather I’m _right here._ ”

Veronica Sawyer was in her bed.

Veronica Sawyer was _alive._

Veronica Sawyer was _alive_ and _in her bed._

A second hand, rough with calluses, settled on her cheek. “You’re having a panic attack, Heather.” Veronica murmured calmly. “I need you to breathe.”

Heather hadn’t noticed that she _couldn’t breathe_ until Veronica said something. Then the panic heightened and she began to choke on the pressure building in her chest.

But Ronnie was there. Ronnie was warm and solid and _alive,_ telling her to breath - counting out the breaths.

Sometime during the panic attack, the brunette had moved Heather's hand to her chest - where the steady heartbeat beneath her fingertips worked to sooth her further.

At some point her breathing slowed - matching Ronnie’s own deep slow breaths.

At some point she was pulled into the smaller girls embrace and held tightly.

“I’m here, Heather.” Veronica whispered between the steady counts of _one two three four five - hold - one two three four five._ “I’m here.”

And Heather, now that she _could_ breath, she began to sob.

* * *

“What the _fuck_ was that.”

She registered the soft conversation later - time had really lost all meaning - from her place buried in Veronica’s chest.

“Shut up, Heather.” That was Veronica. She was being careful with her tone and volume, but her words were no less harsh. “Leave her alone or _go away._ She doesn’t need your drama right now.”

“Don’t be such a pillowcase, Sawyer.” Duke snarked back.

Beneath her, Heather could feel the brunette’s chest inflate with indignation. She knew the next words out of Ronnie’s mouth would be brutal. Could almost see the set of her jaw - the flinty glint of her eyes - and _“I’m resigning my commission from the lipgloss gestapo”_ … the twist of a disgusted sneer.

Once again, she hadn’t realized her breathing had picked up until Ronnie started counting softly. It took a moment until she was able to follow along with the count, tears -real, live, _human_ tears - sliding down her face.

But it was the _tap tap tap_ of a restless hand about her waist that made Heather smile. Made her burrow deeper into the girl that smelled of old books and dew and _Veronica._

“Sing,” she whispered, the sound almost lost in the old t-shirt Ronnie wore to bed. “... please.” Her throat was sore and scratchy, not at all a pleasant sound. Not at all like Ronnies.

The brunette had a gorgeous voice - when (if) she could be coaxed into singing. It was something Heather learned quite by accident, having snuck up on the smaller girl in her room one day. She’d probably stood there for a good five minutes, mouth hanging open in awe, before she’d tip-toed back the way she came.

For a moment Heather thought Ronnie was going to refuse, as the hand holding her waist stopped its tapping. Then she began to sing softly, hand now counting out the rhythm. It was upbeat and happy - completely opposite the current atmosphere in the room. As she was want to do.

_“Whenever there’s music, the devil kicks. He don’t allow music by the River Styx.”_

Tony Bennett - Heather rolled her eyes. She should have guessed that Ronnie would sing … what did she call them? Crooners?

Well, it didn’t matter she supposed. Even Heather and Heather had quieted down to listen. Better yet, a weight on her chest lifted and her breathing finally _finally_ even out.

Her Ronnie was alive, as evidenced of the lovely alto voice coming from lips pressed near her temple. It had only been a _terrifying, horrible, nasty_ dream.

Right?


	2. Chapter 2

The others were eventually lulled to sleep - either by Veronica’s singing or sheer exhaustion.

Heather Chandler didn’t dare close her eyes, no matter how they itched and stung. She needed no help remembering the dream.

It had been _so real._

She had died - killed by the Butch Cassidy wanna-be. Her spirit stayed, clinging to her almost-girlfriend's pleas and screams. _Heather! Heather, hold on! Please! Don’t leave me …_ That last part had been the worst, sobbed into blonde hair while the brunette rocked them back and forth.

When Dean had grabbed her, hauling her away - Heather had followed, spitting curses all the way to his motorbike.

With a groan, she rolled herself upright, sheets pooling around her waist.

There was a snort to her left as McNamara rolled over, snuggling into the sprawled out form of Duke.

Veronica shifted, “Heather?” Dammit, she’d forgotten the girl was a light sleeper. “Heather are you okay?”

“Fine, babe. Just going to the bathroom.” Hopefully a nice long shower would clear her head.

She was halfway out of the bed when Ronnie stopped her. “Hey.” Blue eyes, tired and red rimmed, studied her face. “You can talk to me, you know?”

Heather could only smile - a little wobbly - and lean in to kiss her softly. “Go back to sleep,” she murmured when they parted.

“Fat chance, darlin’.” Ronnie grumped before leaning in and kissing her again. “I’ve got some work to get done anyway.”

“When don’t you?”

They grinned at each other, foreheads pressed close and hands twining.

Together they slipped into the hall. “Coffee?” The brunette offered.

Heather was already headed toward the bathroom. “Only if you don’t use your instant shit!” She called back, getting the rough laugh she was aiming for. It made her feel almost like the dream never happened.

* * *

An hour and a half later, the sun had officially risen on September first. Otherwise known as the first day of Senior year. And Heather needed an outfit that was _on point._ Hence the hour or so she spent staring into the depths of her closet, trying on this and that - not too impressed with anything.

She should probably also pick out something for Veronica. If she left it up to the brunette, the girl would arrive in torn jeans and a band-t. That was _not_ acceptable for her almost-girlfriend.

McNamara was spread out over the vanity, multitasking with makeup and hair. “So, Heather, when are you going to ask Veronica out?”

It was Duke who answered with a snort. “She’s _sixteen._ ”

“So?”

“So it’s _complicated,_ ” Heather cut them off before they could start debating again. Duke was weirdly protective of the younger girl and it wasn’t an argument she wanted to have this early in the morning. “Help me pick an outfit for her.”

Predictably, the two of them lept on the chance to use Ronnie as their personally Barbie Doll.

Heather rolled her eyes and made for the door. “Pick something comfortable yet classy,” she instructed. “She’s got that TA gig starting today.”

In the hall she had to pause, hand against a wall for support. Today was going to be fucking miserable. Part of her had known, in an intellectual sense, that panic attacks and anxiety attacks were draining beyond measure. (She was sort-of-kind-of dating Veronica Sawyer after all.) But experiencing it for herself was not something she ever wanted to do again.

Getting downstairs took more effort than she was willing to admit. But the sight of Ronnie curled up in the breakfast nook, pouting at Cook made it worth it. She was dressed in Heather’s silk pajama bottoms, cuffed at the ends because they were several inches too long. Likewise, the t-shirt was hanging off one bony shoulder. “You look like a ragamuffin,” Heather murmured fondly.

Blue eyes snapped to her, giving an appreciative once over before settling on her face. “Feeling better, darlin,?”

Instead of answering, the blonde slid onto the bench beside her - eyeing Cook wearily as the old woman pretended not to be listening. “Showers make everything better,” she finally said. “Showers and coffee.”

Veronica caught her unspoken request not to talk about the panic attack in front of Cook. Her scowl made that clear enough but (bless her) she played along anyway. “You’re coffee machine is stupid complicated. It started screaming at me.”

Cook laughed - loud and bawdry. “For a genius girl, you lack some basic common sense.”

Heather was quick to drop an arm about tense shoulders. “Shh,” she murmured into her hair.

While her facial expression would have you believe that Ronnie was offended, the blonde knew it ran deeper. Something very close to anxiety - or at least an extreme dislike of strangers - kept her from making many friends. And it only got worse around adults.

There was a flick of blue as eyes cut in her direction, before the girl ducked back over the piles of paper scattered in front of her.

Earlier in the summer this would have been worrying. But now she knew that the press of a leg against her own meant _I’m fine, I’m handling it_. It came as predicted, covered by a shift in the girl’s posture, and Heather laid a kiss against brown curls in thanks.

They stayed like that, Ronnie tucked up under Heather’s protective arm, until Duke and McNamara joined them fifteen minutes later.

In that time, Cook had laid out breakfast - mostly toast and fruit - and set down four mugs. One of them had a shot of espresso, one was plain black and two of them were cut with hot chocolate.

Duke slid onto the bench on the other side of Ronnie, trapping the smaller girl between them. “Let me see your lesson plans,” she coaxed the girl out from other Heather’s arm. “Want to go over them again?”

The blondes left the two to chatter quietly as they dished up the food.

Bread on a small plate for Duke, placed next to the black coffee at the girl’s elbow.

The espresso and eggs benedict for McNamara, who sat in a chair across from the trio.

Fruit and two identical cups of coffee/hot chocolate for Heather and Veronica.

It wasn’t that Veronica was a picky eater so much as she got easily distracted with school work. Or reading. Or crossword puzzles. Or music. Or … really anything that happened to be in front of her. Heather had discovered that it was easier to get her to eat if she wasn’t actually aware of that she was picking at food. Same with the drinks - identical so that it didn’t matter which cup Veronica grabbed.

A typical morning in the Chandler Household - random dreams and overwhelming panic attacks aside. 

And just like every other morning, “babe you need to get dressed.”

“Huh?” Veronica blinked up from where she and Duke were scheming.

“Clothes, Ronnie,” McNamara giggled. “They’re laid out for you upstairs. Don’t give me that look. It’s the first day of school!”

Heather nudged the brunette gently before sliding out of the way. “And your first day as a TA.”

Veronica still looked skeptical, but by now knew better than to argue about clothing choices. “I reserve the right to dress like a hobo when school is out.”

“Deal.” All three Heathers chimed.

* * *

“So when are you going to tell her about the bet?” Duke had posted herself in the front hallway, leaning against the molding and twirling her keys. “Or has she already figured it out?”

There was a moment when Heather couldn’t breath. A moment when _didn’t they tell you?_ Echoed in her ears. _They had a bet on who could sleep with you first._ A moment when Jason Dean’s laugh rang out as a figure clad in blue stood frozen. _The Heathers don’t love you, they don’t even like you! You were just a summer project, a way to pass the time._

_“Shut up!”_ Heather didn’t know who exactly she was screaming at, Duke or the fragments of her dream. “Don’t you fucking dare!”

Duke stared back at her, completely unimpressed. “She’s going to find out sooner or later.”

Heather roared, lurching at the green-clad girl. “Listen to me you fucking bitch.” She snagged that perfectly pressed collar and shoved. “You will not say one fucking word to her. You will not allow _anyone_ to say _anything_ about that _stupid bet._ ” She shoved again, breathing becoming irregular and weak in her panic. “As far as we are concerned, _it never happened._ ”

There was an odd look in Duke’s eye - pride? Respect? - when she nodded her consent, not bothering to fight Heather’s hold. “Agreed. It would kill her if she found out.”

The world stopped.

All she could see was a silhouette dangling on the end of a noose.

Then she couldn’t see anything at all.

**Author's Note:**

> No idea where this one is headed ... should be interesting.
> 
> On Panic Attacks: 1) They fucking suck. 2) They're different for everyone - everyone needs something different to help them through it - but generally the steps go a) recognize you are having a panic attack b) regulate your breathing and c) find a happy place. But like I said, its different for everyone - I know some people who need to be held tightly, I know some people who need you to stay the fuck away from them. 3) And I can only write what I know (this is your warning).
> 
> Also - I apologize for my dyslexic self.


End file.
